XVIII

Ye take most vainly. Through Heaven's lifted gate

      The priestly ephod in sole glory swept,

When Christ ascended, entered in, and sate

      With victor face sublimely overwept,

At Deity's right hand, to mediate,

      He alone, He for ever. On his breast

The Urim and the Thummim, fed with fire

      From the full Godhead, flicker with the unrest

Of human, pitiful heartbeats. Come up higher,

      All Christians! Levi's tribe is dispossest!

That solitary alb ye shall admire,

      But not cast lots for. The last chrism, poured right,

Was on that Head, and poured for burial

      And not for domination in men's sight.

What are these churches? The old temple wall

      Doth overlook them juggling with the sleight

Of surplice, candlestick, and altar-pall.

      East church and west church, ay, north church and south,

Rome's church and England's—let them all repent,

      And make concordats 'twixt their soul and mouth,

Succeed St. Paul by working at the tent,

      Become infallible guides by speaking truth,

And excommunicate their own pride that bent

      And cramped the souls of men.

                                                                                          Why, even here,

Priestcraft burns out; the twined linen blazes,

      Not, like asbestos, to grow white and clear,

But all to perish!—while the fire-smell raises

      To life some swooning spirits who, last year,

Lost breath and heart in these church-stifled places.

      Why, almost, through this Pius, we believed

The priesthood could be an honest thing, he smiled

      So saintly while our corn was being sheaved

For his own granaries. Showing now defiled

      His hireling hands, a better help's achieved

Than if he blessed us shepherd-like and mild.

      False doctrine, strangled by its own amen,

Dies in the throat of all this nation. Who

      Will speak a pope's name, as they rise again?

What woman or what child will count him true?

      What dreamer praise him with the voice or pen?

What man fight for him?—Pius has his due.